


Friend Request

by FadedFaith



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, I'm Sorry, This is so shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedFaith/pseuds/FadedFaith
Summary: Based on this tumblr post that I thought might need a bit of fleshing out.http://genuine-foxy-fan.tumblr.com/post/155057594291/werkthatasdfl-infamoustypos-i-also





	1. Chapter 1

The heat of battle was intense, it was like standing too close to a flame. The unfortunate part about battles is that sometimes people stand a bit too close, and that heat envelopes them until the scorching, inferno of a blaze takes them whole. But that's why she was here. The angel of Overwatch herself, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler. The heavenly golden beam was as much as a staple of her work as the suit. Her halo was brilliantly gilt and her chest covered in the purest of whites. What resembled a flowing banner hung from her hips, swaying down around her legs as she gracefully flew about the battlefield, avoiding the streaking bolts of plasma only God knows how. Her heels clacked over the cobblestone streets of King's Row, the home town of the cheerful girl that had only moments ago zipped past her in a blur of blue light. Her face was twisted up in the brow furrowing concern her work brought, her head spinning as if attached to a swivel at every spare moment, the near magical golden ray shooting forth from her staff at any moment she saw a shot rip through an agent of her colors. Just as her feet had left the ground and she had come skidding to a halt behind a parked car that a few men were using for cover, another scream ripped across the battlefield. She immediately turned off and her feet left the ground once more. As she tended the lone soldier her earpiece rattled out.

"Mercy!" It was Genji, "I'm hurt bad and they've got me pinned!"

Her head snapped up attentively and immediately began scanning the battlefield. Dammit. She spotted his tracker, but he was nowhere that she could reach with her Valkyrie suit alone, she would need to get there on her own. She moved her staff onto her back and drew her small pistol from her thigh. She took a deep breath and her eyes locked on the farthest man from her. She took yet another deep breath and on her exhale, her legs shot her forward, wings flipping outwards and bursting to life. Her feet were taken off of the ground and she was propelled towards the agent she had locked her eyes on, her wings folding back in when she had nearly reached him. Her feet hit the ground in perfect sync with the deactivation of her wings, legs never stopping for a rest, up the small stairs and into the nearby building she went, placing one hand to her earpiece as she hooked around the handrail of the nearest flight of stairs.

"I'm on my way Genji! Hold on!" She let her hand drop as soon as she had finished her sentence, most of the building going by in a blur, only awaiting the curve up ahead that would lead her to her downed comrade.

It was the moment that she turned the corner that she had realized her mistake. The flashing purple light pulled her to a desperate stop, mere inches from what she would infer was the trigger range. But it wasn't here that her turmoil was mostly directed, it was mostly directed straight down the extended barrel of the widow's kiss, the spider-like headset on the opposite end of the rifle staring emotionlessly through the scope. Though this came as no surprise to the angel, the assassin was not meant to feel. She felt as if time had stopped around her, but her chest still heaved from the adrenaline coursing through her, sweat still dripped down from her temple and down her cheek, and blaster fire still rocked the air around her. She could feel loose strands of her messy bun sticking to her sweat slicked cheek as air passed heavily through lightly parted lips. She would never admit it but she was terrified, so terrified even, she forgot the blaster in her shaking hand. 

Inside the inner workings of the headset across from her, the woman's thoughts ran wild in her head. Of all the voices she couldn't figure out which to listen to. She was inconclusive. And that was something she did not like to be. Her lip twitched and her headset parted, retreating onto either side of her head. She peeked over the scope for a moment before raising the rifle, the barrel pulling into itself whilst she swung the top of the gun up to land on her shoulder. She stared at Mercy a moment longer before simply turning away and raising her arm, and in a split second the blue hued girl had shot out of the window and onto a nearby rooftop. It took a few seconds of Dr. Ziegler shaking uncontrollably for her legs to start working again, but when they did, they shot her forward and into the next room, her breaths unsteady and her eyes still wide. Her pistol slammed into its holster and her staff came from her back as she spotted the bleeding cyborg, holding his side and sat against the wall, head leaned back.

"Ah, Dr. Ziegler. It seems I owe you once more." she gave a shuddering chuckle as her healing stream engaged, mending his wounds with ease.

"Get back out there. I'm right behind you." He chuckled and stood up, stretching out a bit before bowing to her quickly and flipping out of the window, streams of green following his shuriken into battle.

"I need healing!" Her job was never done. She instantly started towards the window and dove out, her wings gliding her to the ground with her staff. I guess the doctor is always in. Though throughout the remainder of the battle, she could never take her mind off of the blue skinned woman that had let her go. By all means, she should not have been standing where she was. She should have been dead. But no. She was spared.

Why?

\---

Widowmaker could only wonder the same thing as the defeated talon agents, including herself, flew back to base in their drop ship, badly battered. Widow stood tall, one hand on a handle above the seats, another holding the barrel of widow's kiss. Her leg bled ever so slowly. A round from a particular duel wielding annoyance had caught her square in the thigh and pushed right out through the other side. She didn't seem too bothered by it's presence. What bothered her more was that damned doctor. She had been literally staring down the barrel of her rifle and her finger refused to twitch off the hair trigger. All she could think was that she was incompetent. She must be, there must be something wrong with her, had to be. It was the only explanation.

"Just for the record, Reaper owes me a round." Widow was shot from her thoughts by the intrusion, a low growl coming from the other line indicative of Reaper's response.

"Got it. Too soon." Sombra chirped back.

Another annoyance, as bad as if not worse than Tracer. But, they needed her, she was a technological mastermind, and handy with a gun, Reaper trusted her, so she supposed that was enough. Widowmaker's thoughts weren't allowed to drift much more on the ride back, but she refused to cut off her comms. The incessant chatter was better than having to think about her mistake. It was the moment that she had touched her foot back down on the concrete and walked herself back to her designated quarters and she was left in lonely silence that it truly hit her. She removed her headpiece and began to undo the band that held her hair up when theories and questions began flooding her again. She had never hesitated before. Her finger had never so much as flinched away from the trigger for a split second, but it was a full five before she allowed the woman to get away. Not only her, but every other person that her golden stream will touch after that moment.

She sighed softly and closed her eyes as she tossed aside her hair band, running her fingers through her scalp to straighten out the long, waist length violet hair that she donned upon her head. She would run the scene over in her mind several hundreds of times in a single minute, simply searching for why, why she had paused. And every time she came up blank. She never got the feeling she had when the woman was standing just in front of her. It was a fluttering feeling, and it was hot. But the heat wasn't entirely unpleasant. She couldn't place the feeling. Couldn't even begin to imagine what it might have been. But she knew a surefire way to find out.

\---

Dr. Angela Ziegler wasn't doing too much differently than the lonely sniper. The Dr. sat on an empty bed of the infirmary, staring blankly down at her legs. Her eyes continued to revisit the open end of that barrel, pointed directly at the bridge of her nose. It wouldn't have even been a chore to have killed her. Maybe that was it? It wasn't any fun? How could she know. To know what had truly happened she would have to know what went on inside of the assassin's head, and to do that would be impossible. Or pretty damn near it. She let out a long exasperated sigh and closed her eyes before a heavenly smell greeted her. Her eyes opened to a fresh mug of coffee, held by a tanned hand.

"Something wrong Angela?" Fareehah's steady voice cooed out to her as the mattress beside her pressed downwards with the weight of the second member. She took a long sip of coffee and sighed again.

"It's nothing." Fareehah smiled and leaned over and pressed her nose just beneath the doctor's ear, her lip grazing her neck lightly before she pulled back.

Even with the scalding hot coffee, the action sent shivers down her spine, and her cheeks and nose lit up a bright red, a small giggle coming from her as she hunched away from her.

"Fareehah!" The egyptian girl chuckled softly and sipped her own coffee, her own blush held back through sheer willpower alone.

"You're adorable." Again the doctor shied away, blush heavy on her face as Fareehah stood.

"Well, I'm sorry to leave you, but the other girl in my life needs some attention." Angela's brow raised, mug stopping millimeters from her lips, Fareehah chuckling at her accusing look.

"The Raptora, habibti." Angela nodded once and returned to her coffee, leaving the caramel skinned woman to leave with a long strand of chuckles.

Angela slowly sipped away at her coffee for another half hour, and then another couple of hours later and she still sat on the infirmary bed. She didn't have anywhere to be, and she had no reason to leave the comforting silence, the familiar smell and scene that lay before her. It wasn't uncommon for her to spend her nights here instead of her quarters. Some scolded her for it, but she found nothing wrong with it. There were beds just like her room, and she enjoyed it in here much more. If she slept in her room it was more often than not that Fareehah had requested she do so. She sighed and ran a hand through her frizzing hair, looking up at the clock. It had been 12 only moments ago hadn't it? She could not for the life of her see how it had been three hours. But she had no arguments. She wasn't tired, and even though she knew she shouldn't skip sleep, she knew every once in awhile a night to just stay up and think wasn't too bad.

It was only seconds after this sporadic burst of thoughts that her comforting silence, only accentuated by the quiet hum of the bedside machines was disrupted by a sharp click. Her head wandered upwards to find the window open, drapes flowing in the cool breeze that drifted in through the newly agape window. Curious, she thought. She had never known that window to open itself. She walked over to it with a small, quiet yawn, using one hand to cover her mouth and the other to close the window. The sound of the breeze was immediately cut silent as the window clicked back into place. The moment the breeze stopped however, the silence was cut through by another noise.

"Doctor." the heavily accented voice came, and she knew immediately who it was. The french woman had a very distinct voice indeed.

She didn't dare turn around to face her and let her see the cold sweat she had worked up, but she swallowed and spoke, praying that her voice didn't crack, "Here to finish the job are you?"

There was silence between them for a moment, "That is to be determined."

Mercy finally built up the nerve to slowly turn around, her white lab coat's folds dragging against the window sill as she did so. When her eyes fell upon the woman she blinked, several times, as if to try and blink her away. Her hair was let down and her headset was nowhere to be found, nor was her rifle. She wore a beige colored penny coat, and her legs were covered by black jeans, she looked almost normal, if it weren't for the glowing golden eyes and blue hued skin. She couldn't help but find her eyes wandering over her, but as she realized herself her eyes shot up to her face, cheeks and nose lighting up once more. she couldn't help herself though. She looked so... Amelie...

The assassin that watched her every move with a calculating stare, noticed every flit of her eyes off to the side. She didn't note it as much placing her hands in the pockets of her penny coat and running her thumb over the handle of the discrete blaster she had brought.

"Did you see how I didn't shoot you?"

Mercy blinked yet a few more times at the question, of course she had. She was still here and not splattered against the wall of a building somewhere wasn't she? When she noticed the almost impatient look on widow's face she sputtered into an answer. "W-w-well yes, I did..."

"Good. Explain to me why." Angela was simply being hammered with questions that she was astounded by. She seemed to search for an answer, scrambling her brain but coming up short. She answered with nearly clattering teeth.

"I d-don't know..." She looked up at where Widow leaned against the wall, looking down at her feet. Widow sighed.

"Me neither." It was only then that Angela noticed that Widow almost seemed to be refusing to look at her. Of all things the assassin couldn't look at her, how curious.

Angela swallowed and nodded and again the two stood in silence for what felt like hours, but this time Angela seemed to find that time felt slowed down. It had only been a minute. She swallowed and looked back to Widowmaker who could be seen thumbing the pistol in her pocket, unbeknownst to Angela. Mercy took a long slow breath and moved her stethoscope up off of her neck and set it on a nightstand beside her.

"So why are you here?" Widow looked up and then back down.

"To find out what you're doing to me." Again and again Angela was just utterly confused. She palmed her face and breathed heavily, almost afraid to ask.

"What do you mean?"

It happened before she could even blink. She was pinned against the wall right next to the window, Widow's fist just beneath her chin and holding a handful of her blue shirt, exposing parts of her midriff. Angela's mouth was left slightly parted and her eyes wide. She couldn't move, paralyzed by the woman's piercing yellow eyes. They were searching her, scanning through her head for lies and truths, and all Angela could do was let her, color steadily rising in her face as she realized just how close the beautiful woman was to her. Their legs were nearly tangled, and this kickstarted Mercy's mind. Fantasies. Far too many fantasies that brought far too much blood to her face. Just as Widow's lips parted to speak she jolted to the side, colliding heavily with the ground.

"Fareehah!" Mercy stepped back from the furious tangle of limbs and watched as tanned and exposed limbs tangled vehemently with Widow's. But in only a few short moments Widow had sent Fareehah slamming to the ground spitting blood, and she snapped the window open, flinging herself out. Fareehah, still recovering from the violent headbutt, stood angrily and slammed the window shut so hard she nearly broke the glass. Mercy grabbed her chin and turned it towards her with a disapproving grimace. Blood ran from her nose and the corner of her lips.

"Come on, let's fix you up." 

"But Angela she's g-!" 

"We'll see her in a few days, we always do. Let her go. We'll just have to up security." Fareehah was obviously annoyed by this idea, but Mercy's smooth guiding hands landed the bird on an infirmary bed getting her nose and mouth wiped at. But the entire time Angela moved her hands over her, she couldn't get Widow's sentence out of her mind.

"Did you see how I didn't shoot you?"

ko-fi.com/samthomas  
(Hey if you like my shit throw a dolla my way arigato)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unfortunate accident happens on the battlefield, leading to what may be an awkward outcome in Overwatch's headquarters.

“Another day in the office, I suppose…” Angela spoke in a manner not unlike that of a sigh, her hand palming and rubbing over her face.

On the battlefields, her job was never done it seemed, and she knew this. Her earpiece rattled with frantic and desperate calls, but Mercy was almost calm. Almost. The deafening sonic boom of Widow’s Kiss’s rounds splitting the air flinched her every time they struck, and every time they did, there was another cry for help. Muttering curses to herself, her angelic wings sprouted to life to send her towards the wounded woman trying to drag herself behind one of the nearby buildings, leaving a meaty trail of blood in the Russian snow.

As mercy landed nearby, she assessed the woman’s wounds, the brunette girl giving her a smile even through her searing pain.

“Hey there doc, coming to say hi?”

“Perhaps I would if you would stop attempting to get your leg blown off.” 

There was a small chuckle as the foot soldier threw her head back into the wall with a dull, metallic thud. Mercy knew from the extent of the injury that her nanites would only do so much to a wound of this caliber. She had lost too much muscle, and the bullet had cleaved straight through an artery by the look of the blood. Her staff immediately latched a beam the girl’s stomach, letting her sigh in relief as the pain was taken from her, but she stopped the beam short of fully healing her. 

“I’m going to have to help you further in the infirmary, no more fighting for you today I'm afraid.”

“Bummer.” the lithe woman gave a smirk, “I was hoping you’d carry me away in your arms.”

Mercy gave a small smile before chuckling “I’m afraid not. Someone will be here for you shortly.”

The angel stood up and dove right back into the chaos, staff waving with her clacking heels. Another deafening kiss of death from the end of a sniper’s rifle, another cry of pain, followed by a desperate scream for help. As she repaired the chunk of the man’s abdomen that had been carved out by the bullet, she noticed that Tracer was gone once more, and the unique sound of Widowmaker’s automatic rifle filled the air of the rooftops. Mercy sighed and shook her head, that girl was going to get herself killed, dancing with death like that. It was nothing short of psychotic, but it kept the barrel from pointing down at the rest of them. 

In nothing longer than a second she had sprung upwards towards the blue, shimmering soldier in the sky, a blue stream now connecting her to Fareehah and her Raptora. It was a wordless flight of grace, each movement of Pharah’s jets bringing Mercy along with her, keeping the blue stream connected. But something broke from Fareehah’s normal flight pattern. Her head snapped aside for a fleeting moment, towards the chaotic battle on the roof between Tracer and the Widowmaker. Mercy already knew what she was going to do before she did it, but didn’t stop her. She redirected herself towards the two of them and began firing rockets towards the purple flashes produced by the sniper’s suit, but each time she nimbly dodged. Pharah made a scowl behind the beak of her visor, popping the clasp off of her launcher before slamming in another drum of the miniature missiles.

The gunshots had gotten less frequent from the two they were aiming at, only firing off a few sporadic rounds at each other anytime they could get the barrel to work itself up to either one of them, but mostly they had begun grappling and sending vicious strikes at each other, Tracer seeming to attempt to keep her in close proximity. Pharah seemed only to focus on finding an open opportunity to hit the slender spider. She was on a manhunt. This was a hunt for revenge. Fareehah still had a strip over her nose where it was broken and swollen up, bruising on either side.

Suddenly widow got in a few good hits on the young test pilot, and was able to grapple a good distance away. That was when Pharah saw her opportunity, and sent a missile straight down towards her. She would have gotten away from it too. If Tracer hadn’t blinked up to her from where she’d fallen, and initiated another grappling match, unaware of the danger on its way. Near simultaneously both Mercy and Pharah tried to call out to her, but it was far too late. Just as Tracer had looked up the rocket struck at the base of both combatants feet.

Mercy gave an audible gasp, bringing a hand to cover her mouth as Fareehah gave a low growl of frustration. Mercy began floating down towards the tops of the buildings where the two of them had been sent skidding across the gravel on top of the roofs. There was a flash of blue and Tracer was back where she was before the rocket had struck, holding her chest and patting herself down for a moment before sighing in relief. There was the gentle clap of heels against the rooftop only a moment later, and then the thud of Fareehah’s less than graceful landing soon after that. Mercy frantically began checking over Tracer like a mother to a child as Fareehah stood with her launcher held across her chest. The battle beneath them was coming to a close, an Overwatch victory imminent.

“Are you alright? You aren’t hurt? Are you sure?”

Giving Lena no time to answer, Angela continued peppering her with questions. That all stopped when there was a gentle tap on her shoulder from an armor plated hand. She turned around to look at where Pharah was now pointing. Widowmaker lay sprawled out on her side, blood leaking from her shrapnel ridden legs, where gravel was sent spitting and cutting into her, and the metal shards from the explosive itself had slammed into her soft flesh. There was even a large gash across the right of her lower abdomen. Mercy gave another small gasp before jogging over to her prone form, her raven hair strewn out above her head, exposing her back and showing the tattoo there. Mercy found no practical use in the skintight suit having so many openings, but right now, that wasn't what she was worried about.

There was a small clicking noise behind her as Pharah removed her helmet, tucking it under her arm as she watched them. Mercy looked over the prone form of the unconscious woman, muttering medical terminology beneath her breath.

“Trauma to the head… caused on impact… deformation of the skull… bone splinters in the leg… shrapnel still stuck inside… blood… bleeding… bleed out in… oh jeez…” She frantically looked over the woman as Tracer came over and knelt beside her, looking at the bluish purple woman and her dark red blood seeping from her wounds, but very slowly. Much slower than it should be. Mercy stood and turned to Fareehah, who looked down at her with a stoic look, completely blank as Angela gestured to the downed Amelie. 

“It’s risky to move her with head trauma like this.... but without immediate medical attention she could be dead in minutes. Fareehah, I need you to take her to the ship’s medical bay. My nanites can’t work on her if there’s still shrapnel inside of her.”

Fareehah looked stumped for a moment, but knew better than to go against the frantic doctor’s orders. Fareehah had been… educated, on Mercy’s oath before. And she didn’t need the lecture again. She carefully scooped Widowmaker into her arms, and walked to the edge of the roof before shooting into the air to head back to the ship. Mercy turned to Tracer on a heel.

“I need you to fly us back as quickly and smoothly as possible.”

“Trust me love, you don’t have to tell me twice.” and like that she had blinked away. Angela looked up at Fareehah, running and jumping off of the building before shooting up towards her.

\---

Before the ship had even taken off Mercy had already donned two latex gloves and began her work in the emergency medical bay at the back of the ship. Lena had opted for a manual flight instead of auto pilot, and the speed of their journey was evident in that sense. Angela’s hands were bloodied near immediately as she began the procedure of cutting the blood flow to her legs. But it hit her then. Would that be a good idea? She barely had any blood flow to them anyway it went, and cutting it completely could be beyond consequential. Angela scowled and tossed the tourniquets aside before beginning to dig around in her leg, a bloody sight to see.

On the deck of the ship, Jack was openly voicing his frustrations, but it was in a way that made him sound more like a concerned father than anything else. Mercy heard none of it. Like this, she had closed out all distractions. Fareehah stood well enough away from the doctor’s work, but still watched on. The only complications came when the woman splayed out on the table began to flutter awake.

ko-fi.com/samthomas  
(Hey if you like my shit throw a dolla my way arigato)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, this is just a filler chapter until I can get back on my computer. But next chapter will be extra long, just for you guys!


	3. Chapter3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The characters of Overwatch get a little bit more development in this chapter. We see friendships flourishing, tracer being Tracer, and Widowmaker having a bit of medical explanation behind her condition.

She couldn’t think of anything that brought her more pain than what Talon had done to her. But this was a very close second. The searing, dreadful pain in her leg was almost too much for her to bare. Her fingers curled up tightly and her hands shook as her eyes slowly, steadily opened. Bent over her was the concerned doctress, her hair frayed off in as many crazy directions as it could find. She was missing her halo; discarded to put on the surgical mask she wore. She didn’t move her head as not to draw attention, but looked around at her surroundings with half opened eyes. She kept her breathing steady, and tried to keep it as quiet as her heartbeat.

It proved difficult to do so when there was a pair of hands digging around in the shredded flesh of your legs.

As a particularly large piece of shrapnel shifted inside her right leg she tensed up and groaned, thumping her head back. In response there was a startled gasp as Mercy- no; As Angela looked down at her, finding her half lidded eyes. The blue skinned woman’s mouth slowly turned up in a smirk, and her chest rumbled with a low chuckle. The doctor began shuffling around on a nearby tray suspended in the air, fiddling with a syringe. She moved over to her arm to inject the sedative, but Widowmaker’s hand came up and pushed her hand away with a wordless grunt. Mercy looked down at her and blinked in confusion.

“I don’t need it.” came the curt response from the assassin.

Mercy blinked a few more times and placed the syringe back on the table with unsure hands. Widow laid her head back on the headrest of the table, closing her eyes softly even as her blood pooled on the metallic surface beneath her. Mercy reached up to the torn side of her suit on her midsection, already bloodied fingers parting the flesh that had been ripped open ever so gingerly to grab the shard of metal stuck inside. There was another groan of pain, but Widow’s face remained stoic. Mercy pulled the two inch long intruder from her abdomen, and then grabbed her caduceus.

It was the last look Widowmaker got of her disfigured legs. The splayed, red flesh, exposed to the open air. The jagged canal through her abdomen. The white spots where her bone had chipped and splintered into her own leg. The puddles of crimson pooling beneath her periwinkle skin tones, tainted with red. The flashy purple of her skintight suit lying open over most of her thighs in fluttering fragments in the false wind provided by the ship’s air conditioning. It was all gone only a minute or so later, even though her suit remained torn.

Attaching the yellow stream of nanites to the sniper was like deflating a bag of air. The tension in her muscles slowly and steadily died down, and the breath she’d been holding escaped in a long exhale. Her golden eyes opened again, again looking around the airship. Tracer was at the head of the ship, and the rest of them were sitting around in the main deck, down the small flight of stairs leading up to her. Leant against the wall to her left was…

Widow’s Kiss…

Why would they have brought her rifle aboard? She looked ahead again, and only now realized that everyone except Tracer had their eyes planted on her. She felt as if she was under examination. Though this was nothing new. There were two, loud thuds of metal against metal on the floor beside her as Ana’s daughter stepped between her and her rifle. Ah. They thought that she would be stupid enough to try and attack them all at once at close range. Yes; that would make sense.

Widow sighed and went to swing her legs off of the table and stand, but she was pushed back down to sitting on the table by a metal plated hand. Pharah’s hand rested silently on her shoulder, keeping her down on the medical table. Widow’s eyes came up to combat with hers, but after a moment she sighed and relented. All of this in awkward, dead silence. As Pharah backed off and crossed her arms again, staring her down, Widow looked over all of them and smiled before letting out a small chuckle. She said nothing for the rest of the ride back. In fact, no one did.

\---

As the airship came to a smooth stop, Widowmaker was grabbed under her arm by the egyptian woman beside her and tugged up to her feet, being escorted down the stairs and onto the deck as they awaited the door to open. It was like she was being used as a display piece, all eyes on her. Even Tracer stopped to stare as she stood from the pilot’s seat and looked at her. She could feel the stares, but returned none of them, except for one.

Angela had taken the liberty of grabbing the Widow’s Kiss from where it lay, and begin to carry it down the stairs. She paused halfway down as her eyes locked with the primal, predatory eyes of Widowmaker. Her heart began pumping a million miles a minute, and then abruptly came to a complete halt as the blue corners of her lips turned up in a devious smirk. Only a second later the door fell completely open, and Widowmaker was yanked out by her arm into the hustle of Watchpoint Gibraltar. Fareehah moved behind her, and pulled the woman’s free arm up behind her back. Overwatch agents all dropped what they were doing whenever they saw her, all staring.

To be truthful she wasn’t unaccustomed to this. She had always been on constant observation while she was tortured into the mold that Talon had wished for her. This kind of petty staring was nothing new. She was walked all the way to the bedrooms and shoved into one. It seemed that they were trying to make do with their lack of an adequate prison by the fact that Fareehah continued standing in the doorway and looking at her.

It was amusing. No, hilarious, in fact. That they thought that a room with an open door and one guard could keep her put in place. Maybe she would stay a bit longer to amuse herself. It was almost as if her Egyptian Guard could read her thoughts, because as soon as she had finished her thinking, Fareehah primed the rocket launcher in her hands.

How quaint.

\---

“What were you thinking Ziegler! That woman has killed more of our men than anyone else, assassinated the figurehead of the shambali, and who knows what else!” Jack slammed his hand down onto the table right beside his pulse rifle, sending a jolt all the way through the base.

Angela ran a hand up her face and through her hair with a sigh, “Jack, calm down, please?”

He threw one hand in the air dramatically, “Oh I’m calm, I’m just wondering why you thought bringing an assassin into our base would be a good idea!”

Lena looked up at him from where she was spinning in her chair, “Come on now dad, don’t be so harsh on her. Look, now we have her prisoner, yeah?”

“Do not call me that.” He pointed a gloved hand at her as he rubbed his scarred face, his white hair dishevelled and messy from a day’s worth of battle.

Around the small table sat Jack, at the head of the gathering, Ana, Lena, Angela, and Reinhardt. The air was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Lena seemed to help with that aspect. As always the joyful pilot only brought a small bit of cheery comfort to every situation.

“Look, Morrison. I can fix her. I can find a way.”

Whatever comfort Lena had brought into the room immediately washed away. Even she went still as they all looked at Angela. She returned each of their stares in turn, nodding softly and reaching up to undo her bun, and let her hair spill down her shoulders.

“Whatever they did to her isn’t beyond helping. And it isn’t beyond the most advanced medical technology in the world.” she spoke confidently, and stared Jack down out of them all. Her eyes held a steely determination behind her nearly glowing blue irises.

Ana spoke smoothly in her accent, her voice somehow still holding such a large amount of power, “I say we give the doctor a chance to help her Morrison.”

Reinhardt was now the one to speak up, as loud as ever in the comparatively tiny conference room, “Has anyone considered the possibility that she doesn’t want to be helped?”

Again. Silence. Complete and total silence. Everyone in the room was too deep in thought to say anything. It was 76 who finally broke the deafening quiet.

Jack gave a long sigh and looked down at his hands on the table, one of his fingers drumming the table in thought before he looked back up to her, “I’ll give you a chance. But if your magical medical stuff doesn’t work, then we go to my method. Do we have a deal?”

Mercy could only smile as she nodded softly, “Indeed we do. And trust me Jack, my ‘magical medical stuff’ will work just fine.”

The tenseness seemed to simply wash out of the room all at once, leaving Reinhardt to stand after slapping his large hands onto the table, shaking the metal and everything atop it. He gave a grand smile and spoke- no, he yelled. He always yelled.

“Now that that has been set to rest, who is up for a drink?” He smiled at them all, and after a few moments of silence, Jack and Lena shrugged, and stood to go get their drinks.

“I’m getting the bitter!” Lena cheerfully called out as she jogged up to lead the three of them.

Angela visually slumped and rubbed her face, an arm thrown her shoulder by Ana, “What is wrong child?”

She sighed and leaned into the older woman. If anything this woman had been like a mother to her. She couldn’t describe the joy she had felt on her return. Angela let her hands drop and she looked up at her sidelong from where she was hunched over the table.

“What if… what if I can’t fix her? What if she’s too far gone?” Angela’s sharp eyes had gone dull and thoughtful in seconds after Jack’s departure, “And what if Reinhardt is right? What if she doesn’t want to be helped?” this deep and influential of a question left Ana to ponder for a minute before she looked down at her with a gentle smile.

“Dear, if I knew the answer to questions like these, then I would be hailed as a goddess. I can’t give you an answer, but I can give you advice.” she paused for a moment and took a deep breath, seeming to be mulling over ways to word what she wanted to say in her head, “You are trying to do good things, and you always have. I think though, that the definition of ‘good’ can change at any time. All I can say habibti, is that you need to keep doing good, no matter what that definition is.”

Angela took a moment to process this, and then looked over at her. She smiled softly, in which she received one in return. Angela sighed and turned herself to wrap her arms around the older woman. 

“Thank you, Ana.” Angela spoke through the clothes on Ana’s shoulder, Ana only smiling in return.

“Now go do what you have to do before Jack decides he should change his mind.” Angela chuckled softly at this and disengaged the hug to smile at her, and then to walk off towards the beds, where Fareehah was keeping watch of their new prisoner.

Ana sighed and rubbed her head, fingers gently brushing her eyepatch. This woman after all she had done. Not only to her, but to everyone else. Did she deserve a second chance? Nonsense, everyone does. It was just up to her as to what she was going to do with it.

\---

“Can I have my rifle?”

“Do you think I’ve gone completely daft?”

The assassin smiled up at her, a simple, yet somehow so complex of a thing. Pharah stayed stoic, however. Staying firmly put in front of the room’s door. Widowmaker sighed, almost out of boredom, but Fareehah could see her hand moving against her thigh. From the movements, it seemed almost as if she was holding the grip of a rifle, her finger poised to pull the trigger at any moment. After a few seconds of complete stillness, the woman’s finger dragged slowly across her thigh.

Fareehah watched the action with a withheld curiosity, her eyes narrowing a small bit being her only indication of any type of interest. It was almost a whole three minutes of this repeated process and Pharah’s silent, calculating stair, before the echoing clack of heels became evident down the hall.

Both heads turned to see what it was, and Pharah softly stepped aside, allowing Mercy passage into the small room that Amelie had to call her own now.

“Mrs. Lacroix? I’m sorry to disturb you but I have some tests I need to run.”

“Oh, so now you’re treating me as if I’m just some house guest then? Not smart, ma cherie.”

Angela froze for a moment, the venom dripping from her words potent enough to eat and chew through the mental preparations she had made just to speak to the Widowmaker. After only a second she realized herself, and cleared her throat. She produced a clipboard from behind her back and began looking down at it.

“Um… not particularly no… but I need to take some of your blood.”

“Come and get it then.” She smiled wickedly, and Pharah cleared her throat from the doorway, bringing an almost bored sigh from Widow.

“Fine then, take it.” She thrust her arm forward, baring her blue skin.

The frenchwoman looked up at the doctor expectantly, but Angela seemed too stumped to move for several seconds. She shook her head and blinked quickly before producing her syringe from her lab coat. She pulled a small wipe from another pocket and tore the packet open, rubbing it over a small patch of her skin. The doctor’s hands were soft, and incredibly steady, even while within inches of her. The blonde haired woman kept her eyes looking down at her arm, but every so often they would flick up to her through the fray of her hair.

Widow gave a small sigh of boredom as her eyes flicked up to the blonde. She held her arm still there as Mercy wrapped a small tourniquet around her bicep. Widow was familiar with this, it was standard procedure, so she decided to say nothing. She watched as the needle slipped skillfully into her arm, and then the tube just off of the needle began to fill with her blood. While blood slowly began filling the tube, Angela spoke.

“What does it mean.”

Widow seemed confused for a moment, then raised a brow at her, “Quoi?” 

Angela gestured to her other arm, where a tattoo of what seemed like shattered glass lay, with french written across it in bold black letters. The blue lips on the woman twitched up into a smile.

“Spider in the evening; nightmare.” was her simple answer, turning her arm over in her view and looking at the entire tattoo. She hummed softly, and didn’t even notice the needle being plucked from her arm and the white tourniquet being slid off as well

Angela gave a smile up to her, “L'araignée du matin, la douleur. L'araignée du soir, l'espoir.”

Almost without thinking about it Widow responded, “Spider in the morning, grief, Spider in the evening, hope… If you can speak French, then why ask me what the tattoo said?”

“It seemed like good conversation.”

The two shared a short smile before Angela stood again and looked at the vial of blood, then down to her.

“Without even studying this I can tell you have cyanosis. But I’ve never seen it on such a large scale…” The sniper sighed and looked up at her, waiting for the inevitable ‘eureka’ moment, “There is no way that your cells should be able to withstand this amount of oxygen starvation for this amount of time… you have to get the oxygen at some point or you would go gangrenous…”

The doctor placed the vial of blood into her coat after capping it, still speaking out loud, but to no one in particular. Her movements were sporadic as she wrote things on her clipboard, and then continued speaking.

“Artificial oxygen deprivation of the cells means that the red blood cells should be missing their hemoglobin… So somehow, some way, Talon is keeping you oxygenated, but just enough at all times, or you only look like this for a maximum of maybe... a few weeks at a time, if you’re lucky… A loose end that ties itself off…”

She was amazingly accurate in her assumptions. For a doctor, she made quite the fine detective. Talon had her on a leash. If she deserted, she died. If she upset Talon, she died. If she was captured and unable to escape in time. She died. All Talon had to do was stop giving her oxygenation treatments.

Angela looked down at her and into her eyes, Widow staring right back. Widow gave a silent smirk, letting the woman know all she needed to as she swallowed softly and held her clipboard a bit tighter. She turned and walked out of the room, continuing down the hall, her voice still echoing down to them as she discussed treatments and terminologies that Fareehah couldn’t understand.

Widow sighed and leaned back in her chair again, placing her hands behind her head and kicking her feet up smugly. She cast her eyes towards the shining blue Raptora that again stood in the doorway.

“Can I have my rifle?”

“Please stop asking me that.”

\---

Lena Oxton. World famous vigilante, pilot, only know human in history to suffer from chronal disassociation, superhero, decorated hero of the UN; and extremely irresponsible.

 

The crowd around the small bar in the kitchen of the Overwatch HQ cheered on the small girl sitting across from the monster of a German man. Cups littered the table, and two more were tipped upwards at each of the competitors’ mouths. 

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” the room cried out to them as they drank. Tracer slammed her mug down and thumped her head on the table with a regretful groan, arm flopping lazily off of the table and knocking a few metal mugs off with it.

Reinhardt gave a bellowing laugh before calling out for another drink. The room around him erupted as he took up another mug. Tracer weakly beckoned for one as well, arm flailing out as she grunted incoherently. Her hand found the handle of a mug and she went to tip it back, but instead retched, the mug dropping to the floor and spilling its contents. Tracer wasn’t too far behind it as she fell off of her stool and to the floor. She stumbled around as she stood and staggered to the bathroom. Behind her the room pounded with the cheers for Reinhardt’s victory, but in the tiny bathroom, the loudest sound was that of Tracer’s stomach unloading itself into the bowl of the toilet.

After about four episodes of vomiting, she thought she was done, and sat back against the wall. But after only a few more seconds her stomach churned again, and she was sent sprawling over the toilet again.

After a few moments of this drunken hurling, there was a gentle rub on her back with a soft hand. There were no words, just gentle circles rubbed in her back. A few minutes more of her violent retching and vomiting, she plopped backwards onto her butt, groaning and wiping her mouth on the rolled down sleeve of her bomber jacket. The comforting hand had backed away now, and a song began playing in the confines of the bathroom. She recognized it. Rejuvenescência, a song Lucio had made for his album.

Lena looked up, and sitting on the sink, kicking his feet, was Lucio Correia dos Santos. He gave a small smile down to her and knocked one of his dreadlocks back behind his shoulder.

“Hey, you alright?” he raised his right brow in concern, a chuckle coming from Lena after a second of silence.

“I’m great.” she thumped onto the ground behind her with a groan, “Thanks.”

“You know what Emily thinks about you drinking too much.”

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll make it up to her.” she rubbed her face and sighed.

A cup of water was thrust towards her and she sat up to take it, drinking it down quickly and rubbing some sweat from her brow. Lucio couldn’t help but smile.

“You are one troublesome kid, you know that?”

“We’re the same age.” she stood up and blinked a few times, giving a drunken smile towards him, “And I’m taller.”

“Not by that much!”

“Still taller!” Lena laughed with her entire body, hiccuping once before stumbling out of the door.

On the other side, Hana had been waiting, “Oh, hey Lena. I was making sure no one bothered you. You need to have a little bit more self control.” Hana chuckled a small bit and place her hands on her hips. 

“I have self control! Lots of it!” Lena crosses her arms and pouts at her, rocking a bit as she stood there. It was obvious the room was spinning in her vision.

“You probably need some rest… you don’t look too great.”

“I do not! We’re having a party! I’m partying some more!” and like that Lena took off. With a few sporadic flashes of blue light, Lena was standing on top of a table with another drink in her hand, hooping and hollering like a rowdy teenager.

Hana smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand and dragged it down her face as Lucio walked up beside her, “Why do I even try Lucio?”

He chuckled as he watched Lena look down at the crowd of people laughing and cheering her on, and then dove into them. Hana and Lucio both flinched away from her face first flop as her foot slipped off of the table and her face slammed smack into the ground. She held up a weak thumbs up from her heap on the ground and Hana shook her head.

“She’s on her own.” at the last moment a dark skinned arm barred her off.

“Nuh-uh, you know that’s not right.”

She gave a sigh and a groan, tilting her head back before turning around, “Fine. But this is the last time I’m helping her drunken ass! She’s a grown adult!”

“Yeah, yeah. Now come on, let’s go pick her up.”

They both walked towards her as she weakly pushed herself up, “Come on you mess, let’s get you to a bed.” Hana grunted out as she wrapped one arm over her shoulder, and Lucio the other.

“Noooooooooo~” was all that Lena could mutter out as she staggered along with them, a small stream of blood running from her nose.

“Oh look at you. Angela is going to have a fit.” Lucio wiped the blood from her upper lip with his thumb, sighing.

“No! Don’t tell Angela! Hey… you have really pretty eyes… anyone ever tell you you have pretty eyes?”

Hana sighed and rolled her ‘pretty eyes’, “Yes. You. Every time you get drunk!”

She gave a drunken giggle and continued staggering along with them, head bobbing back and forth as she smacked her lips and began nearly yelling the English football team’s fight song. She truly was a handful.

ko-fi.com/samthomas  
(Hey if you like my shit throw a dolla my way arigato)


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